


Test of Mettle

by gentlezombie



Category: The Legend of Drizzt Series - R. A. Salvatore
Genre: BDSM, Consent Issues, Double Penetration, Dubious Consent, F/M, Group Sex, Humiliation, M/M, Magical Sex Toys, Multi, PWP, Punishment, Voyeurism, Whipping, evil matriarchy, magical everything
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-26
Updated: 2017-01-26
Packaged: 2018-09-20 01:42:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9469808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gentlezombie/pseuds/gentlezombie
Summary: This is the worst idea Jarlaxle has ever had. And what's worse, Entreri has to go through with it.Or, that time in Menzoberranzan when Artemis Entreri got fucked by Jarlaxle's mercenaries in order to placate a vengeful priestess. It's political! ...No, it's not. It's just porn, really.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I was supposed to write worldbuilding and a plot and everything. What have I got? Unrepentant porn. I have way too much fun writing a reluctant-but-secretly-enjoying-it assassin. There's a couple of drow OMCs and a priestess I made up for porn purposes, but really it's all about Jarlaxle and Entreri. Isn't it always?
> 
> No beta because I may have been too embarrassed. Please let me know if anything's wonky!

_”Why do you think I would ever agree to such a thing?” Artemis Entreri snapped. ”What use is this idiotic scheme to you – or me?”_

_Jarlaxle’s uncovered eye flashed. ”Stop stalling for time. You know the benefits. Or do you want me to kill you here and now?”_

_A throwing dagger sank to the wall beside the assassin’s head. Another knife was gleaming between Jarlaxe’s fingers. Entreri frowned at him in annoyance. He did not believe the mercenary wanted him dead. He was more concerned with the other things he wanted._

_”It would be a mercy compared to how she would dispose of you.”_

_”Are you telling me there is no choice?”_

_”I’m telling you it is the best choice. And I also believe you are not as untouched by these things as you would have us believe.”_

_Whatever he had seen or done long ago in Calimshan, he had no wish to recall those memories. Once again he was presented with a deceptively simple choice: live or die._

_He knew what he would always choose._

 

”I'm waiting,” the priestess said, her voice a silky whisper. Her snake whip was writhing at her waist. The snakes coiled around her like lovers.

Entreri had no wish to feel their bite again. He'd had enough of that earlier that day. The task Jarlaxle had sent him on should have been easy enough. Learn the lay of the city, listen to a few conversations, attempt to blend in. He suspected it was only to stop him from doing something rash out of sheer boredom.

He'd never liked to stand out from the crowd. In Calimport he'd prided himself on his ability to move like a shadow. But here he stuck out like a sore thumb. Among the lithe and short drow, he felt stocky and clumsy. He'd upped his game quickly – he wouldn't have been who he was if he hadn't been able to adapt. But one mistake, one look at his face under the hood, and anyone could tell he was not drow. Mere vermin. That was what he was to them.

He had made such a mistake. Too fascinated with the alien landscape of the city, he'd failed to cower before the priestess of a minor house. Even though her position in the pecking order might be precarious, his was downright catastrophic – so far beneath her he didn't even count as a speck of dust. He'd been reminded of that fact painfully right there on the street.

And now here.

It turned out Jarlaxle was involved in a complex plot with this one. Zebeyril, although of a small house, was as ambitious and ruthless as any matron mother. She held information which could harm Bregan D'Aerthe if ever whispered to the wrong ears. And so when she came to Jarlaxle to demand retribution for the slight Entreri had given her, it was in the mercenary leader's best interests to placate her.

Which led to Entreri's current predicament. He was kneeling on the bed, naked, his thighs parted. He wasn't bound in any way. That only made it worse. It took tremendous effort to keep his hands slack by his knees. The feel of the silk sheets under him made shudders run down his spine.

There were four other people in the room. Zebeyril, with her ever-present whip, clad only in a belt and a skirt with slits up to her waist. The sight of naked breasts was something Entreri had grown used to in the drow city, and it evoked more dread than excitement. The two drow males were mercenaries, Jarlaxle's newer recruits. He couldn't recall their names. They were on one knee on both sides of the priestess, awaiting her orders. And there was Jarlaxle, sat in a plush chair with one leg crossed over his knee. He was taking in the scene with a look of habitual amusement on his face.

It was a sign of how low Entreri had fallen that it had come to this. Never in his life would he have imagined that he would let himself be dictated so by anyone. He had always been able to trust in his skills, his physical power and cunning to turn even the most desperate circumstances to his advantage. But now he was overpowered in every way. Everyone was an assassin here. And if they weren't, they were something worse.

He lowered his head to hide his eyes.

”I apologise for my insult, priestess. It was not intended.” His voice was hollow. He was sure she could hear the insincerity and the howling rage inside of him.

”I care little for the intentions of an _iblith_ ,” she hissed at him. Then she threw a calculating look at Jarlaxle. ”Hurt him for me, will you? The snake-poison makes one numb. I am not satisfied.”

The mercenary lifted an eyebrow. ”Certainly, priestess. Your will is my command. Chaszree, Meryin,” he said to the two mercenaries. ”You know what to do. And you”, he fixed Entreri with his uncovered eye, ”only need to keep still. You may make noise. No words. She likes that.”

”Do not presume to know what I like,” Zebeyril shot at him, but she did allow a cruel smile to pass over her face.

The two drow rose as one and approached the bed. One of them had a many-tailed whip in his hand. The other knelt down by the bed, ready to subdue the assassin if he should show any signs of a fight. They did not have any respect for him, he thought bitterly, and then realised the absurdity of the thought.

The priestess let out a pleased sigh at the first crack of the whip. Entreri shuddered but stayed silent. The burn spread across his shoulders and his upper back as the strokes followed one another. It was barely more than a sting at first – only a prelude to light up his nerves. The strokes got gradually more forceful. He ground his teeth together. It was a game for them, but he would not be their plaything. He wouldn't give them any more than he had to. As his back was lit with wicked fire, his breathing got fast and heavy. The blows, enough to rock him forward with each strike, started to draw blood. He felt a little trickle of blood down his spine, wondered that he was able to make it out among the blazing hurt.

The drow who had been waiting by his side fisted a hand in his hair. The hair had grown too long. Jarlaxle insisted that he braided it. He would cut it at the first opportunity.

”Bow down,” the drow said, pushing his face towards the sheets.

He wanted to resist the pressure, to break those insistent fingers. Then he glanced at Jarlaxle who was still sitting comfortably in his chair. He was playing idly with the diatryma feather of his hat. He looked inscrutable as always, detached like nothing in the world could touch him. Somehow that was what made Entreri despair.

He bowed down and pressed his face against the mattress. His back was arched, his arse presented up in the air. It was hard to breathe. Heat was flooding his face.

”Wait,” Jarlaxle said. Entreri wanted to scream at him. Whatever it was, he wanted it over and done with. This game only prolonged his humiliation. But then that was its whole purpose. ”Use this.”

He slipped off his heavy belt with the spider buckle and held it out to Meryin. Zebeyril looked at Jarlaxle almost with approval.

”You have ideas. I like that. Not everyone does.”

Jarlaxle shrugged.

”Simple, but effective. I like it personal.”

The belt was different. The impact was heavy and cutting, the sound of leather on skin loud as the belt hit his arse. Entreri couldn't help but let out a hiss. He tried to stay still, but it was hard not to sway with the blows. No one had hit him with a belt since he was a child. Somehow he still couldn't believe this was happening. When he glanced about the room, he saw the red eyes fixed on him. Even when he looked away he could still feel the weight of the stares – hungry, greedy and cruel. Each strike ground him more firmly in the reality of it.

”That belt has got such a pretty buckle on it. Use the buckle-end, soldier. Show him the wrath of our Spider Queen.”

He felt himself veering dangerously close to panic. His body trembled with the ingrained instinct to fight.

He did what he had to. His hands were stretched out in front of him. He brought his wrists together. The ordinary-looking silver bracelets let out a faint chime as the magical restraints locked into place.

Meryin chose that moment to obey the priestess's command. Entreri let out a half-gasp, half-shout as blunt metal hit his flesh. The hits landed with precision – on his arse, on his back, on the backs of his thighs. Ugly bruises would bloom wherever the spider left its mark. His fists cramped, short nails biting into skin.

Something was said which escaped him. Then there were hands on him again, pulling him upright. He gasped as his arse made contact with the silk sheets. Everything was on fire. His whole body felt like one giant bruise. Jarlaxle's words penetrated from far away.

”That's enough. He's only a human. We wouldn't want to break him before the fun part, would we?”

Zebeyril scoffed. ”I might enjoy that more. But you have made me promises. You would be wise to fulfil them, or you may quickly find yourself in his position. And I am not known for leniency of this kind.”

”I am honored, priestess, that you would entertain such notions about my lowly person,” Jarlaxle said glibly. ”Of course, I intend to keep my promises.”

She strode over to Entreri who fought the urge to flinch away. Nothing escaped her eyes. She looked him over like a cattle merchant calculating the value of a beast. Her fingers skidded over his cheek, rough with stubble, where a bite mark from her whip still bloomed vivid.

Then, incredibly quickly, she raked her sharp nails down over his chest and stomach and took a hold of his soft cock. Red stripes bloomed on his skin, and he gasped for breath at the sudden intrusion. He had known where this was going all along, of course. But somehow his mind had refused to admit it. Now, as he was exposed to her ruthless scrutiny, there was no denial.

”He'll do,” she said curtly with one last painful squeeze. ”Ugly though he is, I have never witnessed mating with one of his species.” She made herself comfortable in a chair next to Jarlaxle and parted her skirts. Her nakedness only enhanced her power, whereas it made Entreri weak. She motioned to the two drow to continue.

They made him kneel on all fours, half-turned away from the watchers so they would have a good view. He noticed to his dismay that the mercenaries had shed their clothing and were now as naked as he. He did not welcome their touches, but there was little he could do about the matter. One of them – Chaszree – was running his hands over his sides and his flanks like he was trying to calm a frightened animal. Then the light touches moved to the cuts on his back, and he let out a hiss as the expected pain finally came. The drow was using some kind of healing salve; his hands left a tingling burn at their wake. It lessened the pain only fractionally. The magical bracelets ground together as Entreri's hands moved restlessly.

At the same time, Meryin was doing something he couldn't see. He flinched as the drow laid his hands on his ass and pulled the cheeks apart. Curses locked in his throat. The touch on his punished flesh was burning, while air felt cool against his exposed hole. Then there were fingers touching him carefully, knowingly, each brush and catch of a fingernail calculated to drive him to madness. He gasped for breath as the fingers returned, slick, and pushed inexorably inside. Two at a time and he opened up for them far too easily for his liking, though the stretch still hurt. The fingers scissored and explored, spread him for whatever was to come. Meanwhile Chaszree had slipped underneath him with the agility of a cat and was laying punishing bites to his nipples and the skin around them, then pushing in the hurt with his tongue. To Entreri's further humiliation, his cock did not seem to mind the proceedings. It hung heavy between his legs. Chaszree let out a pleased sound at that and turned over to mouth at the head of his cock. He took care to position himself so that Entreri would have no opportunity to bite at him. He would not have trusted himself either.

Both mercenaries were always keeping an eye on their leader and the priestess. At a silent command from Jarlaxle, Chaszree retreated and went to him. He was handed some object Entreri could not see. He could only see the naked drow, lithe and powerful though shorter than him. Then Chaszree and Meryin traded places. Meryin took a hold of his hair again and turned him to face the priestess. She was toying lazily with herself, fingers tangled in white curls.

Then something was pushed inside him, slick and larger than fingers but harder than a cock. His mouth opened in surprise as the object was pushed in deep. As it pushed further in, he realised it must be a wand of some kind.

”Hells no,” he blurted out, but at the same time Meryin swallowed his words by pushing his tongue into his mouth. He was too taken aback to even bite down properly. He did, a little late, but it was a mere scrape of teeth, and the mercenary only licked his lips. He remembered that he was not supposed to speak in words. Not in the presence of a priestess. She had every right to kill him if she so desired. Survival, he told himself. That was what mattered. It was the only thing that mattered.

Chaszree was fucking him shallowly with the wand, pulling it out so far the ridges near the end would catch on the edges of his hole, and then pushing it in again. Every now and then he would push it in all the way, punching a gasp out of the assassin. And the wand – it was warming up, heating him from the inside out, while vibrations of energy shook his inner walls. He stared blindly at the room as the burn increased, treading the line between pleasure and pain.

The two drow retreated to give the watchers a better view, leaving him kneeling there with the cursed wand up his arse.

”What do you think of my human, priestess? Does he not suffer pleasure beautifully?” Jarlaxle said. He had one hand down the front of his trousers, the movement lazy and unhurried. His eyes were fixed on Entreri who wanted to look away but could not. He hated those words. He hated the twisted glimmer of pride in some dark place in his mind.

He could not keep desperation away from his face as the sensations inside him intensified.

Zebeyril made a nonchalant noise. ”I suppose. One could activate the wand while it is still in him. Light him up from the inside like a fire golem. That would be a pretty sight.”

Sweat trickled down Entreri's spine. His muscles locked at the very real threat. He had never been in such a vulnerable position in his life.

Jarlaxle nodded, his smile never fading. ”You always have such flashy ideas. But I like to think in the long term. There is much amusement to be got out of this one. Would you not rather see him writhing on a cock? Perhaps while one of my men serviced you?”

”That would be barely adequate,” she said, but Entreri thought he could discern a thread of desire in her voice.

He took a shaky breath as the wand was pulled out of him. It did not mean the danger was over. But the presence of the object inside him had been unbearable.

”How do you want him?” Jarlaxle asked, his voice languid and almost teasing. ”Like this on all fours? Pushed into the mattress so he can't breathe?”

”On his back,” the priestess said. ”That way he will be best reminded of his errors.”

The mercenaries complied immediately. Entreri hissed as his back hit the mattress, his weight pressing on all the welts and cuts from whip and belt. Strong hands took hold of his ankles and forced his legs apart. It was Chaszree who was leaning down on him, whose cock was a blunt pressure against his hole. He swore as the drow pushed inside in one punishing thrust. He was still overly sensitive from the wand, and he could feel every inch of the thick cock inside him like a brand. The drow fucked him ruthlessly while forcing his ankles down by his head. It was one of the few times in his life he cursed his flexibility. The helpless position, the noises forced out of him, the burn of the punishment growing as his skin chafed against the sheets – it was more humiliating than he thought he could bear. As he let his head fall back over the edge of the mattress, he saw an upturned scene.

Meryin had gone over to the priestess and offered her his mouth. He was fucking her eagerly with his tongue and lips while she ground against his face with her long nails digging into his hair. That only seemed to urge him on. She fixed Entreri with such a look that he had to avert his eyes. They fell on Jarlaxle, on the elegant hand moving on his slim cock, one foot propped up on the chair. He still looked relaxed, though he must be keeping careful track of everything in the room.

The assassin’s breath was punched out of him in sharp gasps. His fingers grasped at the sheets. He felt feverish; the sheer absurdity of the situation made his head spin and his resistance melt. Even though pleasure mixed with humiliation as his body remembered things he'd forbidden himself years ago, he had to resist the instinct to flip over and try to strangle the drow fucking him with his thighs or crush his windpipe with his arm. But his eyes locked on Jarlaxle, and as he took in the mercenary leader's calm poise and the unwavering look of his uncovered eye, he was able to overcome those instincts. The drow's presence and his quiet mastery of the room assured Entreri that there was nowhere to run. No choice except to accept the present. There was never any choice, not after Jarlaxle Baenre had decided he wanted something.

The priestess was insignificant. The drow performing the acts were mere instruments of Jarlaxle's will. And though the mercenary leader, too, had to bend to the rules and restrictions of his city, he had made an art of it. Even now, he had made this game his own.

Had made Entreri his own, in ways that counted more than fucking. He did not want to be anybody's keepsake, did not wish to be wanted at all. Most of all he wanted to stop thinking, because damn Jarlaxle was in his head and under his skin, making him consider options he had written off as dead-ends long ago.

Instead he grasped the now like he grasped the spidersilk sheets. With a shock he realised he was dangerously close to coming. He swallowed, glancing at Jarlaxle despite himself, but the mercenary leader merely smiled.

“Stop,” Zebeyril's voice rang out. Chaszree and Meryin froze. “I see the human is enjoying himself while my needs are neglected.” She fisted a hand in Meryin's hair and slapped him hard on both cheeks. “You have no talent. You there,” she said to the drow who'd been fucking Entreri, “come over here and take his place.”

“Meryin is not used to servicing priestesses,” Jarlaxle said placatingly as the snake whip began to twist and hiss at her waist. “May I suggest he shows you where his true talent lies?”

Meryin glanced at his leader and seemed to understand the unspoken command. Entreri hissed as Chaszree pulled out of him to go to the priestess. But before he went, Jarlaxle tossed something shiny to him. The drow caught the object easily. It looked like a ring of some kind, although it was glimmering and shifting on the drow's open palm.

“Let us keep him ready,” Jarlaxle said.

Entreri was positioned on all fours again, with his ass up in the air and his hands behind his neck. Either the mercenary leader did not want him to break his fine sheets or the added helplessness brought him some twisted enjoyment.

His legs were spread and something was pushed inside. The ring, he realised with dismay; but it was not an ordinary ring, for it was shifting in shape and widening until it stretched him open. He was left there, his cock hard and aching, his hole spread obscenely open for the whole room to see. His muscles tensed and contracted, and as a response the ring grew even wider. A desperate noise escaped from the back of his throat. There was nothing he could do but watch.

Zebeyril had risen from her chair. Her skirt had been removed and folded carefully away. She was naked except for her belt and whip. Entreri felt no desire when he looked at her, but as the two drow knelt before and behind her and he realised what they were going to do, arousal hit him like a kick in the gut.

Chaszree was licking at her cunt and taking his time about it. He had the look of someone who had perfected this art through years of practise. Behind them Meryin was lapping at her hole like a dog. She shivered between them, one hand on either's head as she dictated their pace. She looked like a goddess, Entreri thought dazedly; an obscene, black-hearted bastard of a goddess whose eyes were burning at him.

It was almost worse to be left to his own devices, listening to the noises of her pleasure. She held nothing back, growling and moaning as she wanted. All he could do was wait, fucked, spread open and desperate. He would not steep so low as to rut against the sheets.

But Jarlaxle looked at him and signalled him in the drow code. “Please her and all will be well. _Please her_.”

Entreri bit back a curse and gave in. The silk was cool against his burning flesh. The friction was not enough, though he could feel his pleasure mounting. With every move the ring shifted inside him and stretched him wider. In the end he was forced to stop, gasping, trapped. He was stretched so wide open he did not dare to move or the pleasure would turn to pain.

As he lay there, paralysed, he watched as the priestess tipped back her head and let out a series of moans. Chaszree was sucking on her clit while Meryin had buried his tongue in her arse and was fucking her with it. She came hard and mercilessly, raking her nails along their scalps until she drew blood.

“Good,” Jarlaxle purred as she sunk down in her chair.

“That is for me to judge,” she said. “But it was adequate.” She seemed a bit more mellow after her orgasm, though Entreri knew better than to trust that. “Now what shall we do with your pet human? I do see why you keep him around.”

Entreri’s face heated at the words.

“I was thinking,” Jarlaxle said, “that my men could both fuck him at the same time.”

Entreri was not even surprised at this point. He could see a spark of pleasure on the priestess's face. And in truth he wanted something, anything, too much to care about the particularities. Anything to end this tormenting charade. He did not feel entirely sane. His eyes drifted to Jarlaxle who seemed more interested in the proceedings than before. He had propped his chin on his hand and was watching intently. Another test. How many more would Entreri need to pass to gain the mercenary's approval?

“Something a bit more elaborate for this, I think,” Jarlaxle said, his eyes glinting with unholy glee.

His men understood immediately. Entreri was pushed up to his knees and his hands were raised above his head. A sturdy chain descended from the canopy, and the magical restraints on his wrists locked on it with a click. Elegant chains sneaked down and wound around his arms like golden snakes, purely ornamental and surely appealing to the priestess. Of course, Entreri thought foggily, Jarlaxle would have the whole room rigged up for these sordid games. The mercenary could have chosen to have him restrained in numerous ways any time he chose to, and yet he preferred this.

The assassin did struggle, briefly, but he was rewarded with sharp slaps and nails raked down his abused back. The flash of pain made his muscles tighten involuntarily, and he huffed out a breath through his nostrils as his arse clenched around the thing holding him open.

Then the ring was removed, and for a while he was left stretched and open, strangely bereft. That was soon remedied as proprietary hands took hold of him and two sets of white teeth smiled at him from the dark.

Meryin, the one Jarlaxle had said had more experience with men, knelt behind the assassin, his hands splayed on Entreri's thighs. The drow whispered something which he didn't understand – a threat or a warning, or both. Then he was breached again, and he hated it, the secret feeling of satisfaction and the heat pooling in his gut, the sense of rightness in being filled and tested to his limits. And most of all he hated Jarlaxle's knowing gaze as he struggled for breath.

The drow sank deep in one thrust. Though the ring had held him open, it had only breached him shallowly; this deeper possession was harder to accept. His hips were pulled down until they were flush with the drow's, and although the sensation of being filled again was despairingly good, he found he was… disappointed. He'd been so open, ready for anything. But then they pushed him upright again and arranged him to their liking, and Chaszree's cock began its slow push in. The assassin let out a strangled noise as he was breached further than ever before. And that was just the head of the cock barely in. Sweat was running down between his shoulder blades.

Inch by torturous inch the drow pushed in, and though the assassin knew the word for stop he could not utter it. He was to be silent, obedient, servile – all things he was not, and he was certain his reluctance was a part of the thrill for the audience. Their eyes were fixed on him, on the point where two cocks were pushing into him. He stared straight ahead, his eyes wide open. Both drow were gentling and hurting him in turn, sensual touches and stinging bites and scratches as much for show as for his sake.

When they were finally both buried in him, he could do nothing but groan helplessly. His instinct was to shift away, but two pairs of hands forced him down and even deeper. His thighs were trembling with effort, his teeth ground together, and still sounds escaped from his throat. What this place demanded of him – what Jarlaxle expected of him – it was too much. He glanced at Jarlaxle incredulously. The drow offered him a slow wink and a smile while he was languidly stroking his cock. He could as well have stated the challenge out loud.

Artemis Entreri cursed the day he ever laid eyes on Jarlaxle Baenre. For some unfathomable reason, he could never resist a challenge thrown by the infuriating bastard.

He surrendered. He willed his body into acceptance. The two drow must have felt the change because they began to move, slowly at first, finding a rhythm that suited them both. Even those first tentative thrusts were overwhelming, and as they began to fuck him in earnest, the last of his resistance broke down. They fucked screams right out of him. He was writhing between their bodies, a used thing, staring blindly at the ceiling, the chain falling down and binding him to this madness.

There was a bite mark from the snake whip at the back of his neck. Meryin bit down on it and held on while Chaszree began stroking his cock which was still shamefully hard. They kept varying their rhythm, perfectly in sync, and Entreri could do nothing but scream at the thorny pleasure of it. He was hardly aware of the priestess anymore.

“Come inside him, both of you,” Jarlaxle said. “Show him he is ours.”

I am not, he wanted to shout. Instead he shouted for a different reason as the drow quickened their pace. He shook his head, but Meryin bit down harder. There would be a set of teeth marks around the blooming bruise. It was nothing compared to the way he felt marked inside out.

He felt his own pleasure building. He did not want to come like this, not on their cocks, on display for all to see. There was no choice. His muscles tightened around them as shocks of pleasure shook him, and the pain of it seemed only to prolong his release. As it passed, he slumped between them, pliant and exhausted.

It was not over, of course. Now the drow began to pursue their own pleasure, and he was their instrument. He moaned as they reached a punishing pace. Mingled with the remains of pleasure he felt the sharp hurt of their stabs. At some point Meryin had let go of his neck. As he opened his eyes, he saw that the drow were focused on each other. They were kissing or biting at each other over his shoulder, hands and nails wandering. He had seen people fucking in Menzoberranzan, but he had never seen drow kissing. The sight should have filled him with repulsion. Instead it only raised questions his mind was too tired to follow.

“Stand down,” Zebeyril said, and he started. He hadn't been aware enough to feel her approach. The two drow stilled immediately. This close he could smell her and see her wet fingers as she reached out. She must have come again at least once. “I wish to see more of this _iblith_. Jarlaxle was correct. You are an amusing specimen, so unaware of your utter worthlessness.”

Entreri could feel electricity crackling in the air as her magic built up. He looked at Jarlaxle in alarm, but the mercenary was merely looking on intently. She touched him, right where the two cocks were stretching him out so wide, and he had a second to shudder in repulsion before a current of electricity passed through him. His whole body seized up. He screamed again, but now the two drow joined him – they too felt the effect of the spell and his sudden movement. The priestess smiled as she kept her spell going.

“Go on,” she purred at Meryin and Chaszree. “Do continue.”

Somehow they managed to comply. Entreri was beyond thought, wrecked by sensations. He could no longer separate pain from pleasure. There was simply too much of it. He was only distantly aware of Chaszree coming with a last vicious stab at him, and Meryin followed some time later, raking his nails down Entreri's back for a parting gift.

It hurt almost more as they drew out as when they had entered him. Perhaps they were given some sign, because they both retreated. A last lingering touch on his back and a tug at his hair and he was alone on the bed.

The remnants of the spell were still shaking through the assassin's body. Almost his whole weight was resting on his bound wrists. Dimly he knew that was not good, but he could do nothing but let his head drop and try to keep breathing. The spell had another unfortunate effect. He was hard again despite all sense.

“This has been a most diverting evening,” he heard the priestess purr. “I might come to visit you again now that I know how well you entertain guests.”

“You will be most welcome, as always,” Jarlaxle replied. Entreri could hear the smile in his voice and wouldn't have trusted it for a moment. “I take it our little disagreements have been forgotten.”

“What disagreements?” Zebeyril said, her voice even flirtatious. “I must take my leave now. I am expected elsewhere. I trust you know how to deal with your creature. I suggest leaving him chained up for the night. How else will he ever learn?”

“Indeed, priestess,” Jarlaxle said as he escorted her to the door. He stood there for a moment and listened for the retreating light footsteps before he let out a sigh. “Whatever shall I do with you?”

“Let me loose this instant,” Entreri rasped. Now that he was alone with Jarlaxle, he was more acutely aware of the restraints and his position.

“Is that any way to ask for something?” the mercenary said, but even he must have seen that Entreri was skirting close to the edges of his sanity. With one word the bracelets were unlocked from the chain. Entreri fell on the bed on his side, one arm covering his face. Whatever was visible there, he did not want Jarlaxle to see it. He still kept one eye on the mercenary who was approaching him carefully.

“Go away,” he said. “I've had enough of fucking drow and your shitty schemes.”

“Have you really?” Jarlaxle said, sitting on the bed with his ankles crossed. He leaned back and eyed Entreri shamelessly. “Because that's an impressive hard-on you've got there. Are you sure that fucking drow are entirely out of the equation?”

“Fuck you,” the assassin said, and then glowered at the mercenary leader as he laughed. “Not a word. Not a word or I'll strangle you.”

“I might enjoy that.”

The anger the assassin had kept in check was boiling under his skin. This bloody useless banter was one of the many things in Jarlaxle which drove him up the walls. He lifted his arm and met the drow's eye, fully intending to tell him to fuck off.

What he saw on the mercenary's face was unexpected. A look close to… tenderness. It was almost like the mercenary cared. Why or how, Entreri had no idea. The expression was gone as soon as he'd seen it. And as he glanced down he realised that Jarlaxle, too, was still hard – had he not come at all during the evening? Was it out of some twisted sort of courtesy, or did he have his own agenda? Of course. He always did.

But the thing was, Entreri was still caught up in the sex-haze which had totally overwhelmed him after years of ignoring his needs or wants. He was not in his right mind. That was what he would tell himself later. He was still left wanting, and as he let his eyes linger and his mind follow the thoughts he usually so ruthlessly suppressed, Jarlaxle was altogether pleasing to the eye. Moreover, he was a more than worthy opponent. Dangerous, clever, ruthless. All qualities which held no small appeal to a person like Artemis Entreri.

It wasn't even a gamble, really. He turned over to his stomach and looked at Jarlaxle over his shoulder.

“Well? Are you going to fuck me or what? You've been waiting your turn.”

Jarlaxle blinked, perhaps even genuinely surprised.

“I thought you would rather knife me.”

“I might still do that,” Entreri said. “But this was your idea, and you're damn well going to finish it!”

“All right, my impatient friend,” Jarlaxle said with a pleased grin. “Since you ask so nicely.”

He removed his trousers and let them drop on the floor. A show-off as always, he made even this look like a performance. He got rid of the hat with a flourish but kept his ridiculous vest on. His hands on Entreri's skin were warm, somehow more personal than those of the drow who had after all been inside him. Jarlaxle climbed nimbly over him and pressed his hips to his arse. The assassin cursed. In the middle of it all, he'd all but forgotten the earlier punishment. Now the pain made itself known again.

“Like this?” the drow asked, accentuating his words with a roll of his hips.

Entreri nodded. He'd forgotten to be embarrassed at some point, but now that it was just the two of them, he was more aware of himself again. His arse must be bright red and striped with welts. The thought made his face flame even as his hips twitched against the bed. Jarlaxle's long fingers feeling him up didn't help.

“Not a word,” the assassin growled.

“All right,” Jarlaxle said. “But I still think you rather enjoyed parts of your punishment.”

“Stop thinking out loud!”

“On my honour,” the drow said. He must have sensed that his chances of fucking Entreri were quickly diminishing.

He reached for the same salve the others had used earlier and slicked up his cock as Entreri watched. Even after everything, he wanted this of all things. Was it mere masochism or genuine desire? Perhaps both. Before it would have been impossible to accept. But what did it matter anymore? He did not believe his capacity for denial would let him erase the whole evening from his memory. He could not tell himself it had all been forced upon him. Though he hadn't enjoyed all of it – he would kill the priestess if he ever got the chance – he had been shown certain facts about himself. Things he had known or suspected but left unexplored out of fear.

He was past that particular fear now. Jarlaxle's clever fingers were touching his hole, coated with the tingling healing salve. He must have looked obscene, but the drow let out a pleased noise and pushed his fingers in deep. Entreri let out a grunt. It hurt, everything hurt, but it also felt good, like the aches and pains after a fight.

Jarlaxle took his time teasing him until he was rutting against the mattress and calling the assassin every foul name under the sun, and then he replaced his fingers with his cock. Entreri's breath locked in his throat as the mercenary pushed inside. Perhaps he'd overestimated himself – it hurt more than he'd expected, and he bit at the sheets to keep quiet. But Jarlaxle was careful and slow, and gradually he began to feel pleasure again. It was different from being forced open and stretched to his limits. He had to admit that Jarlaxle was skillful – he took note of every noise, every breath, and he adjusted his movements accordingly to please his lover.

Lover. Had he truly thought of such a word? They were rivals, even enemies, grudging allies at best. But he had no other word for the care he was shown. It threw him off even worse than the violence of the previous couplings. As Jarlaxle kissed his neck where he'd been bitten by whip and teeth, a mere warm brush of lips, he couldn't take it anymore. Exhausted as he was, he flipped them over. He had some mass on the mercenary and the element of surprise. Jarlaxle landed on his back with a surprised huff.

The assassin wasted no time in straddling him and sinking in deep again. He did it too quickly, and the burn made him squeeze his eyes shut, but it also felt right. Now he was controlling the pace, and he set a rhythm entirely for his own pleasure, going after his orgasm like a hunter after prey. His hands were splayed on Jarlaxle's chest for support. The drow's hands drifted to his hips but he swatted them away. Let Jarlaxle know how it felt to be the tool for someone else's pleasure. At that moment he did not care about anything except himself. It was a familiar feeling. For once, it was not hollow. The sensations were large enough to fill his entire world and convince him for a moment that this was enough.

It was. After he found the right angle and Jarlaxle's cock hit him just right, it was only a matter of frenzied moments before he came on the drow's chest, riding him wildly until his release left him limp and mellow. The drow, content this far to let him dictate the pace, pushed the assassin off him so that he lay on his side, and lifted his leg and pushed inside him again. His thrusts were slow and measured, like a scheme unfurling slowly. Though Entreri was spent and exhausted, he still felt sparks of pleasure. He lost track of time until the mercenary finally came inside of him.

He was still. He could not remember a time when he had been able to simply exist. Even waiting was always a prelude to action. Now he had no expectations or plans. He had no will or desire left to fight. A real quiet in his mind, not just the calm before the storm.

A hand brushed through his hair. He frowned but didn't push Jarlaxle away. That would have required effort.

“You look almost presentable,” Jarlaxle said approvingly.

“I want to cut it,” Entreri said. “Swore I'd do it just to spite you.”

Jarlaxle fingered one of the braids. “Did I ever tell you what these meant?”

Entreri opened his eyes a fraction. “Have I been walking about the city with a huge sign saying 'human punching bag' all this time?”

The mercenary laughed quietly. “No, though I might store the idea for future use. Hairstyles have meanings here. I have none, as you can see.”

“Because you're special like that?” Entreri said sarcastically.

“Because I'm special,” Jarlaxle agreed easily. “More than you know. More than is good for me. But these,” he twirled one of Entreri's braids between his fingers, “mark you as one of Bregan D'Aerthe. One of us.”

“One of yours, I remember you saying.” He felt distinctly pleased and was irritated at himself, though in his languid state he found it difficult to hold on to his customary edge.

“They are one and the same. We are in this together. Outcasts trying to make it in a city that despises us. Independent actors trying to outperform them all just to stay alive.”

“And to make a healthy profit.”

“That is a part of making it, is it not?”

That could hardly be argued with. Entreri had, after all, done a great deal of things in the name of survival and gold. Some things did not change even in the darkness under the earth.

“I'm tired,” he said.

Jarlaxle let go of his hair and touched his shoulder.

“They did a number on you. You took it well – for a human,” he added with a teasing grin.

Entreri scoffed. “I know that’s no compliment. I would not have agreed to this idiotic piece of theatre if I couldn’t do it.”

In truth he had not been at all sure of that, but once again when put to the test he found in himself an unbending core which gave him the strength to overcome any obstacle. In the drow city, he had been missing that iron-forged certainty. That was why he had been so lost.

“It was our best option. She could have made other demands which would have had more unpleasant consequences for you.”

“You almost sound like you care.” Ridiculous, of course.

“Now you took notice? I have been trying to show you that for quite some time.”

Entreri drew in a breath. He was too tired for this. Too caught up in his own skin which still remembered the mercenary’s touch.

“Couldn’t you even do this like a normal person?” he snapped.

“Would you even recognise normal, my friend? And do you think I have any care for what passes for normal in your world or in mine?”

No, Jarlaxle most certainly did not. Entreri didn’t know what to say to that. He steered the conversation back to less treacherous waters.

“And opposing her was not an option –”

“As you well know. But now,” Jarlaxle said with a devilish grin, “we have more than enough resources to build our opposition should she ever prove troublesome again.”

He fished a small glass sphere from some invisible pocket – he was still only wearing his vest, and that piece of leather did not leave room for storing anything. Shapes and colours were swirling inside the object.

“Should it become known that she enjoys the company of _iblith_ … let us say that her house is not the most tolerant towards other species.”

“ _You recorded this?"_  Entreri hissed. His fingers twitched, itching for a blade.

“Only for blackmailing purposes,” the mercenary said, wisely backing away. “Though if you should prefer some private use for it...”

Jarlaxle ducked quickly as the vial of salve crashed to the wall above his head. He slipped out of the room and closed the door against the assassin’s curses. Entreri heard his retreating laughter.

Suddenly drained, he fell back on the bed. He was glad to be alone, even in a room which still smelled like sex and reminded him of all that had transpired. He knew he was filthy, but he didn’t much care. Though irritation still gnawed at him, there was a sense of contentment he had not known for a long time.

He had a distinct feeling that another test had been passed – and more than that, he was aware of some change in himself. The feeling of choking which had haunted him ever since he’d been hurled to the Underdark seemed to lift, at least for now. He did not feel inclined to contemplate why.

 _You are one of us_. He would not trust the words.

Artemis Entreri turned on his side and fell asleep on the wrecked sheets. He dreamed of fighting, as always, and of a grudging surrender.


End file.
